M. My world has never been the same

[Viking Sigurdr]

[html]

<3 +5

__________________________________________________

It had been a quiet night, for the most part, and even quieter down in the tunnels. A cold wind swept through the dens, howling its discontent all throughout the underground territory. As King felt it waft through and down his spine, he closed his single eye and shivered briefly. That moment brought him back to his homeland, where it was much colder in the wintertime than it ever was in these lands. But there was no turning back, and there was a new king and queen to protect, but as the giant's free hand rose and lingered over the black patch on his face, a snarl curled his lips. His weakness was what caused the warrior to be banished, and he knew that even attempting to open his heart to another was inexcusable. It was not a confession with words - the giant attempted to save her and it cost him dearly. Never again would the large warrior make that same mistake.. not if he wanted to see the world, anyways.

A voice made the giant's head rise from its position, almost snapping up instantly, to see the white queen at the entrance of his den. It didn't matter that she came unannounced, the large warrior wouldn't have said a word about it. Even if he was busy, the bone washed male would have taken the time to acknowledge her presence. Removing his hand from his front, he slowly rose from the boulder, once again gripping his weapon by the end, trying not to seem like he was in a rush. The queen had to be greeted properly, but being too fast or too slow was costly to the warriors - her slaves. The scarred male took a few steps forward, towards the entrance, ruby eye flashing in the torchlight as he drew near. The earth rumbled as the giant knelt down on one knee before his queen, slamming his axe into the earth and letting both his palms rest upon the hilt, now up in the air.

As was customary, he avoided the white queen's eyes - he wouldn't dare challenge such a position. As he knelt, his head bowed too, showing how vulnerable he could be despite the bulk that hid beneath his off-white fur. Messy locks hung at the sides of his face, gravity taking over as Viking stared hard at the ground. "Fine, my queen," he managed to say, voice thick with a foreign accent. He let silence drift between them again, knowing to only speak when spoken to. King did, however, have the freedom to think, and what coursed through his mind then was why the queen was there at his den. If it was something she needed, or someone to take care of, Viking would have obeyed in an instant. Others would have seen such acts as pitiful, but the giant's scars told stories of what happened to those who did not obey a leader's commands. But he would not ask why she was there, or where she had come from, lest she told him.